The Women in My Family Can Never Marry
I loved fairy-tales when I was a little girl. My mother and aunts would scold me whenever they caught me watching Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, or Snow White. There was no reason for me to spend so much time staring at a screen, doe-eyed with wonder, dreaming of a future that would never be mine. I remember my first crush on a boy. I was just under two years old and he was seven. His father tended to our garden on Saturdays, and he sometimes helped out with the rose bushes. I followed him around at a distance, silent and timid, wanting to play ‘family’. My second crush came a year later, the third in kindergarten, and I’m convinced that the fourth was no longer a crush, but my first true love. Joshua and I started first grade together, and we were inseparable from day one. My aunts disapproved of course, and so did my mother, even though she was far less strict in her punishments. They warned me about the dangers of falling in love. I ignored them. At the young age of seven, I knew I would spend the rest of my life with Joshua. I dreamed of a pearl-white church wedding, followed by a swollen belly, and then a beautiful baby boy. My aunts insisted none of it was possible, but I wouldn’t listen. I should have listened. The other boys made fun of Joshua, but he didn’t care. He walked tall through the playground with me at his side. I brought my dolls to school and we played house in one of the jungle gym huts. One day, he looked troubled when I tried to continue our game from the day before. “Janna, we’re doing it all wrong!” he exclaimed, furrowing his little brow in frustration. “Daddy said you can’t have a baby if you aren’t married.” “I’m sorry,” I murmured back, trying to hide my hurt feelings. “We don’t have to play house anymore if you don’t want to.” “I want to,” he said affectionately, taking my tiny hand in his. “But we need to do something first.” Joshua dropped down on one knee and pulled a large candy ring from his pocket. “Will you marry me?” “Yes!” I cried out in joy. “Of course I will marry you!” “Ok, then we have to do it quick,” he said, getting up from the floor. “We’ve already had three babies so we can’t do a whole big wedding with everyone invited.” “But how?” I asked, a tad disappointed that he wouldn’t indulge me in a large wedding ceremony. “It’s easy,” Joshua said. “We can just say we are married now when I put this ring on your finger.” “Ok,” I replied, putting my left hand in his. “It’s the one by the pinky. That one.” A thousand butterflies erupted in my belly. I was Snow White, awakened from a slumber of the mundane into a vibrant fairy-tale life. I was so happy to see the large Ring Pop on my finger that I didn’t even notice Joshua stumbling back, moving away from me. When I finally looked up, his body had already begun convulsing. My childhood love shook violently as his eyes rolled back in his head. He let out a raspy, voiceless shriek before falling to the ground, writhing in the dirt like an electrocuted snake. The blood vessels in his eyes popped, painting the whites a bright, unnatural red. Joshua’s sweet face contorted into a red-eyed mask of terror as the last breath escaped his lungs with a crippled wheeze. I stared helplessly at the rigid corpse of the boy I loved. The school called my mom, who sent my aunts to take me home. Aradia and Ophelia pleaded my case to the principal of the school. There was obviously something medically wrong with the boy, they said. Why was a child being questioned when the parents had probably neglected to give their son seizure medication? They were fuming on the ride home, insisting I was just like my mother, stupid and insubordinate. Hadn’t they told me I wasn’t allowed to marry? Hadn’t they warned me of the horrors? “I thought we were just playing a game,” I whimpered. “It wasn’t a real marriage!” “And what is a real marriage then?” Ophelia snarled, as she pulled into our driveway. “You don’t need papers in the eyes of a higher law. It is enough to love each other and exchange a promise of lifelong commitment.” That night my mother came to my room to wish me good night. I had been crying all day and it felt like I would continue through the night. She sat at the edge of my bed and stroked my hair. She didn’t say anything, and I was grateful she wasn’t reprimanding me like my aunts. Neither of them could stand to be in the same room as me without hurling curses my way. “Mommy, can I ask you something?” “Sure thing, dear,” she stopped stroking my hair, anticipating my question. “What happened to Joshua,” I swallowed. “Is that how daddy died?” “Yes, ” she whispered, climbing into bed with me. “We loved each other very much, and though I tried to stay away from him, he wouldn’t let me.” “How did it happen?” “I thought that we could avoid the consequences,” she said, pulling me close under the sheets. “We agreed to never get married, officially or verbally. We never promised to stay together, we didn’t even speak of love. But our unspoken passion was enough to bring about the curse. Your father died the night we conceived you.” “Why does it happen, mommy?” fresh tears swelled in my eyes. “I don’t know, sweety,” my mother sighed. “I think it’s a curse, though some women in our family regard it as a coveted ancient power. Whatever it is, there’s no way around it.” From that night on I swore I would never fall in love with another boy again. Twenty years passed and I had grown into a beautiful woman just like my mother and aunts. Male attention was hard to escape after puberty, but I did my very best to ignore the advances of my fellow school mates, college peers, and work colleagues. If anyone ever wondered why I was single, I claimed to be asexual. Some people gave me funny looks, but most understood it was none of their business and let me be. I do think it influenced my ability to make friends because there were so few people I could relate to. All that changed when a new girl started working at our office. Kenya was the first person who really got me. She looked like an Amazonian goddess, with her dark skin, long slim legs, and wild black curls. She was funny, kind, and incredibly smart. The two of us formed a special bond over our mutual love of true crime novels, bad reality TV, and waffle dinners. It wasn’t long before we were hanging out after work on a regular basis. Something awakened in me once Kenya and I started spending time together. I found myself humming songs in the shower, fussing over my appearance, and smiling whenever I thought of her. I felt lightheaded after every hug, relishing in the traces of perfume she’d leave on my sweater. I didn’t acknowledge my growing feelings until Kenya took my hand in hers during an episode of 90 Day Fiancé. I instantly pulled away and walked straight out the door, leaving her alone in my apartment. I jumped in the car and sped all the way to my childhood home, where my aunts and mother still lived. They could tell by my ashen face that something was seriously wrong. “I’m in love,” I blurted out. “With a woman!” The tension on my mother’s face smoothed into a warm smile and my aunts burst out laughing. “Mazel tov!” cried Ophelia, raising her giant wineglass in the air. “When can we meet her?” Aradia giggled. “But,” I stammered. “But, the curse!” “Doesn’t affect women,” Ophelia said. “Yup, Ophelia knows all about that,” Aradia said pointedly. “Didn’t you once get married in a gay bar in Vegas?” “Give me a break. The nineties were a weird time for me,” Ophelia laughed. “Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about,” my mother said, wrapping me in a tight hug. “We would love to meet your new lady friend.” So I rushed home to find Kenya still sitting on my couch. Fresh tears stained her face. I sat down beside her, grabbing her hands and covering them in a hundred tiny kisses. Eventually, she accepted my apologies for running out and drew me into a warm, tender embrace. We were inseparable from that moment on. Weeks passed where we spent every free moment together, hugging and kissing like teenagers, laughing at each other’s lame jokes. We were so happy. There was an unspoken agreement that we would take things slow. We didn’t talk about our past relationships (or lack-there-of), and I had a feeling she, like me, had reasons for keeping things PG-13. Then, Kenya didn’t show up for work one day. She wouldn’t answer her phone, and I instantly imagined the worst. Joshua’s lifeless, grimacing face flashed in and out of my mind throughout the day. His small, clenched fists covered in the wet sand of the playground. Those odious, blood-shot eye whites. The twitching limbs. I counted the minutes until my shift was over so that I could make sure Kenya was okay. It took a lot of knocking to get her to come to the door when I stopped by after work. Eventually, she let me in. Her normally luminous face appeared washed out and haggard. There were large, dark circles under her eyes. She had removed her extensions so that only a short kinky fuzz covered her scalp. She shivered at the door in her bathrobe, so I rushed her inside and put her back to bed. It was a lot worse than I’d expected; Kenya looked gravely ill. I busied myself in the kitchen, whipping up some instant soup and tea, hoping to make her feel better. “I’m just not hungry, Janna,” she croaked. “I really wish you hadn’t come by. I hate to be seen like this.” “I think you need to go to the doctor,” I replied. “I can’t possibly leave when you’re this sick.” “How will you ever kiss me again when you’ve seen me like this?” she murmured, unable to meet my eye. I went over to Kenya and kissed her passionately, drawing her cold, shivering body close to mine. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever met and no sickness can change that,” I said, digging my nose into her hair. “My life was empty without you. I love you and want to spend the rest of my days at your side, bringing you bad instant soups that you don’t want to eat.” Kenya started laughing but stopped when her laughs turned to deep, painful coughs. She pushed me away then, asking me to leave. My feelings were hurt, but I did as she said. When I got home, I received a text message. Sorry for pushing you away.I want to grow old with you too. I love you. Please come back ❤️ I never thought I’d feel that warm, intoxicating feeling again. I had only been this happy once, seconds before Joshua had suffered the curse. It was even more overwhelming to experience as an adult. My hormones sent me into a state of physical and emotional elation. Against all odds, I had found love. I half-drove, half-flew through the clouds on the way back to Kenya’s house. I couldn’t wait to hold her again, sick or not, it didn’t matter. My elation quickly subsided when Kenya wouldn’t open the door. I rang the doorbell, banged on the door, called her phone -nothing. It made no sense for her to invite me back to an empty house, but I couldn’t see any movement in her windows. I waited for an hour before leaving. I didn’t expect her back at work the next day, but I’d hoped she would answer my calls. She didn’t. All my texts remained unread. A familiar dread crept up and down my spine. Something was wrong. I just knew it. On my lunch break, I called some nearby hospitals, but nobody with her name had been admitted in the past 24 hours. After work, I drove over to her house and hung out on the porch for at least two hours. There were no signs of life inside. I filed a missing person’s report at the nearest station. The police officer who took my statement seemed very skeptical. Kenya had called in sick for the whole week. The officer suggested that she may have gone to stay with a relative until she was feeling better. The next day at work, I sweet-talked an HR clerk into giving me the information I needed. Kenya only had one emergency contact - her mother. I tried calling her, but she didn’t pick up and I didn’t trust myself to leave a voicemail without sounding too panicked or saying something stupid. The mother’s address was only an hour away, so I decided to go see her (and hopefully Kenya) in person. I knew it was pushing the boundaries of a new relationship, we had only been dating a few weeks after all, but I couldn’t stop seeing Joshua’s face every time I closed my eyes. I had to make sure Kenya was okay. It seemed I had made the trip for nothing when no one answered the door. The doorbell didn’t work, so I banged as hard as I could on the weathered wooden door. “What the hell do you want?” an angry voice cried out. I turned around to see a middle-aged African-American woman hauling groceries from her car. “I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to bang so loudly. I’m looking for your daughter, she hasn’t been to work this week and the last time we saw each other she was really -” “I don’t have a daughter,” the woman interrupted, narrowing her eyes at me. “Now get away from my door so I can go inside.” “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, stepping aside. “I must have gotten the wrong house. I was looking for Mrs. Johnson, Kenya’s mother. Do you know where I can find her?” The woman paused on the steps. A shadow crossed her face and her lips tightened into a thin line. “You must be mistaken, miss,” she snarled. “I am Mrs. Johnson and I have only one child, a son - Kennan. And I haven’t seen him since the day his father nearly beat him to death for wearing dresses. Now, I think you best get off my property.” Mrs. Johnson shoved me aside, banging the door as she entered her home. They discovered Kenya’s contorted corpse a week later when she failed to show up for work at the end of her sick leave. It was concluded that she died of some mysterious medical condition. I swear I will never fall in love with anyone ever again. Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta